


You Can't Steal My Heart

by Fufflebumps (Pippip_hurray)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Awkward Conversations, Bruising, Conversations, Crushes, Daddy kink mention, Dialogue, Embarrassment, F/M, Family Dinners, Father-Son Relationship, Fear, Flirting, Gabribug, Gabrinette - Freeform, Intimidation, Ladymoth, Lunch date, Making Out, Marimoth, Marking, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pet Names, Power Play, Rough Kissing, Snogging, Strikes again, Terrible word play, Thief AU, Thief!Hawkmoth, Time Skips, adrien agreste appearance, age gap, as i go, butterfly pinboard, chat noir appearance, coccinelle crush, embarrassing voicemails, grumpy bug, hard kissing, inner monologue, let me know if there's something i should tag that i haven't, mon mignon, mortification, petit chou, phone thief!Marinette, purple butterfly dickhead, so much dialogue, tall hot blond, thief!Ladybug, time jumps, tipsy calling, trapped in a room
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 19:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12515308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippip_hurray/pseuds/Fufflebumps
Summary: In which Gabriel Agreste, fashion mogul, is Hawkmoth, infamous thief, and Marinette, aka Ladybug, works for a major fashion journal by day and leads a competing crew of thieves thee rest of the time.When Marinette is caught by Hawkmoth breaking into Gabriel's home and office to delete a half-drunk message asking him out, Gabriel realizes there is more to this young woman than meets the eye.Don't judge, okay, desperate times call for desperate measures and her innate creativity coupled with years of Ladybugging may have given her some incidental expertise in a few areas of dubious legality....“I'll help you- on one condition... I get to listen to this message.”Based on a prompt from SinfulPapillon, who happily takes the blame.





	1. Phone Thief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sinfulpapillon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinfulpapillon/gifts).



> This story is rated T for now but may get bumped to M in the future. I will do my best to tag for potential triggers. This is also currently un-beta'd. 
> 
> >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!<
> 
> Tl;Dr Don't Like/Don't Read; They're adults; Hope you like it
> 
> If you don't like age-gap relationships, you are under no obligation to continue reading. If you don't like villain x heroine relationships, you are under no obligation to continue reading. In fact, I encourage you to click the "Back/Return" button and find something that will make you happy. That's what the tags are for: to warn you.
> 
> The two characters depicted below are both adults, over the age of 21 (more precise ages will be mentioned later).
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. If you do, let me know in the comments, leave some Kudos, and subscribe. ;)
> 
> >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!<

“Good girl,” he purred as she closed the desk drawer. The sound of it sent a frisson of apprehension and something else through her and coiled low in her abdomen. He was directly behind her. Marinette stood straight, trying to control her breathing. She had kept off the overhead office lights when she came in to search so as not to arouse suspicion. The only light was from the desk lamp, illuminating the immediate area of the the desk top and her front. She was sure she'd closed and locked the door behind her!

She was cursing her competitive streak now. Cursing class reunions with Kim and Alix and Alya and one too many drinks- just enough to make her braver than her sensibility. Hours later and sober, she was trying to steal (well, not steal, but maybe borrow long enough to erase a voice message) Gabriel Agreste's phone. It was his work phone, so of course it was in his work office, right? He wouldn't have taken it to bed with him or anything... would he? She'd managed to bypass the house security (don't judge, okay, desperate times call for desperate measures and her innate creativity coupled with years of Ladybugging may have given her some incidental expertise in a few areas of dubious legality), she'd made it to his office, was searching the desk drawers when she'd felt another presence in the room. That's when she'd stood up and slowly closed the desk drawer, hands resting on the desk in the warm light of the lamp. And somehow the voice had been so much closer than she had anticipated, above and behind her.

“W-who are you? W-what are you doing here?” It came out breathier than she'd planned. She had come in her civilian clothes and hadn't brought any of her weapons with her. He responded with a deep chuckle that threatened to steal the steel she'd tried to instill in her nerves.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Soft and low. She held back a shudder.

“Hawkmoth,” Marinette whispered. He made a noise somewhere between a hum and a growl. She had only interacted directly with Hawkmoth on a handful of occasions but never unprotected and always wearing a mask. He was a tall man, towering, and making her feel as small as a ladybug to a butterfly. He had proven vicious and cunning. His hand rested on her shoulder. She inhaled sharply.

“What are you doing here, ma chère?” His breath was warm against her neck, against her ear. The voice was soft, but his grip on her shoulder was not.

Marinette inhaled deeply, trying to calm her nerves enough to think. She still needed the phone. There was no way she could let M. Agreste hear that message. She'd already gotten this far. Could she just tell Hawkmoth? She wouldn't be in his way. Even assuming the device was passcode protected, she could probably still get in and delete it in a matter of minutes. It's not like he was going to alert the house to her presence when he himself had broken in. She gripped the desk. “I'm looking for a phone.” Her voice held steady.

He chuckled again, still breathing gently by her ear. “Are you lost, little girl, that you need to break into Gabriel Agreste's highly secure residence in the early morning hours and shuffle through a strange man's desk drawer contents just to call your Maman?”

“Does that make you the big, bad wolf?”

There was a silence while they both considered their next move. He released her shoulder and cool air washed over the place that his breath had warmed. “Some butterflies are known carnivores.”

“If I stay out of your way, will you let me get the phone?”

“You know I was here. You realize that makes you a liability.” She nodded. “Whatever you need from that phone must be awfully important. Is it industry secrets? Are you hoping to find design files? Financial accounts?” She shook her head. “Are you looking for something for the gossip rags? Some record of indiscretion? An obscene paraphilia for the masses to lap up all while destroying a man's life?” His sneer was palpable.

She gasped, “No, never.”

“Never?” It was light, surprised. “What could possibly warrant the risk you are taking, then?”

She paused briefly and sighed in resignation. Who would he tell? It's not like he would run up to Gabriel in his private quarters and tell him about the message. Hawkmoth could laugh himself to sleep later about the neurotic girl who'd left a mortifying message on her crush's voicemail and then broke into the man's house to delete it while he slept. It's not like she and Hawkmoth knew each other. What were the odds of that? “I may have gone out with some friends earlier and called M. Agreste... and left a m-message.” She looked down at her hands against the black of the desk top.

“A message."

She nodded. “A very embarrassing, very personal message.” She waited for his response, not sure of what she expected from him.

Silence, then, “I'll help you- on one condition.” She said nothing. “I get to listen to this message.”

“What?”

“That's my price: for helping you with the phone, for letting you go.”

Well, shit.

 


	2. A Lesson in Self Flagellation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkmoth reflects on the previous night's events and Gabriel listens to Marinette's voicemail message.
> 
>  
> 
> _"Are you going to let me take my punishment now?" ... He pressed his face harder into his palms and let out a quiet scream..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't Like; Don't Read. They're both well into adulthood and making questionable life-choices.
> 
> Thank you so much for the positive response to this so far! This is my very first, actual fic and I am without alpha/beta readers. I am also an impatient poster and like to post as soon as I can. If you see any glaring errors, kindly let me know.  
> I have a couple of days more or less free, so I'll be writing as much as I can while I can.  
> If you continue to like it, feel free to kudos, comment (any quality between intellectual analysis and keyboard-mashing is acceptable), and subscribe!
> 
> >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!<

Last night had been frightening- and exhilarating. Finding a strange, young woman in his office, sifting through his belongings by the singular light of a desk lamp when he himself was entering from the secret entrance by the massive portrait of his late wife. So close. Too close. He hadn't even taken off the suit and mask. He didn't think he would have to when entering his own home from his private entrance so early in the morning with all of the staff either in bed or at home! And then he'd asked her who she was and what she was doing. She was in Gabriel Agreste's home, pilfering Gabriel Agreste's things, and her immediate assumption was that it was not Gabriel Agreste standing behind her. It wasn't Gabriel Agreste gripping her and commanding her attention.

  
Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He could hear every sharp intake of her breath, feel every shudder beneath his fingertips, see the tremor of her jaw, the tension in her hands on his desk. She hadn't even worn gloves- or a mask. Was it hubris or naivete? Her palpable fear was delicious. She obviously knew enough about him to know to be very afraid. And yet, she didn't beg to be let go or to be left unharmed. She had asked to be allowed her own theft! Who-? What kind of person-?

Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

How had she gotten into the house and into his office without setting off any alarms? She was a writer for De Rigueur- not some masked, dilettante vigilante! He knew her! They'd met on several occasions! She was friends with his son when they were in school! How was she so adept at bypassing all of his security measures? When would a fashion journalist ever need that ability? He groaned audibly and set his glasses on his desk (the same desk he'd had her cornered against last night) to pinch the bridge of his nose. Now he knew- at least, he knew why a fashion journalist would need the ability to bypass his security measures. He still didn't know how she had come by it. 

He opened the file on his phone, pressed “play”, and lay his face in his hands.

  
>!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!<

“Hi, Gabriel!-” A man's voice in the background interrupted her and goaded her in sing-song. She answered him away from the receiver, making her voice sound more distant in the din of what must have been a bar or club,“( _Oooo, Gabriel! That's his name? Who's Gabriel?_ ) Shut up, Kim! Our mother's still have monthly tea and I will ask for more photos! …Are you going to let me take my punishment now?... No, I don't call him that- telling you who he is is not part of the punishment!”

Her voice came back to the receiver, bubbly but still annoyed, “I'm calling to ask if you'd like to go to dinner with me some time, maybe? Not like a work thing- ( _From work? Oh my god, is he the one you made up that adorable song... Cutie Gabooty.._.) Rose! You made an Oath! What happens with the boozy truffles stays with the boozy truffles!” She whined. “Please don't listen to them but if you didn't hear any of that, then nevermind. I'm sorry, I know this is late, and it's so, so unprofessional- Uuuuuugh, I'm going to go before-”

There was a squawk and some noise to indicate that she'd probably dropped the phone and- “Adrien, you made it! ( _She's finally asking out her secret man... so awkward_ )” -a muffled laugh and talking- “Not everyone is as smooth as you... I can't ask him out like 'Hey, Mister Sexy Butt, your pants are, like, 15 years past their sell-by date, but dang, if they don't do things for your legs. Let's get dinner.'...I'm not talking about him to you, of all people! ...NO, ADRIEN, DON'T!” The call came to an abrupt end.

>!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!<

He'd made her listen to it with him before letting her “delete” it. There was no way for her to know that all messages from his work phone were automatically copied and uploaded to a separate server to prevent accidental loss of important messages. He'd been as mortified hearing it for the first time, standing by her as she sat in the chair (where he now sat), as she had been listening to it with him. It had been cruel to her, he knew, but he had hoped to make it a lesson.

He groaned into his palms. He'd certainly gotten a lesson: Watching the face of a woman as you both listen to her recorded, tipsy voice admit that she thinks you have a “cutie booty” (and has talked about it with her friends), a “sexy butt”, and that she has a love/hate thing for your favorite pants- to your own son!- is a lesson in... something. Self-flagellation, perhaps. The image he had of himself dictated that he should delete the backup file of the voicemail and forget it ever happened. He was tired and stressed and last night had been too much for him. He pressed his face harder into his palms and let out a quiet scream just as his office door opened.

“Sir?”

He dropped his hands to the desk and looked toward her as though nothing were amiss. “Yes, Nathalie?”

“Adrien is back in Paris and would like to confirm dinner with you tonight, and your 10 o'clock appointment with De Rigueur is here about the upcoming season's concepts.”

“Very good. Make a reservation at the place with the fish for 8. Send in...” 

“Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, sir.”


	3. Red Pants and a Coccinelle Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you think Gabriel Agreste is doing something just to affect you, however improbable that thing may seem, that is what he is doing.
> 
> _"She might very well be running the place in short order if she wanted it, and people would willingly follow her lead and help her...She could have anything she wanted: a realization which terrified and fascinated."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tl;Dr Don't Like/Don't Read; They're adults; Hope you like it!
> 
> If you don't like age-gap relationships, you are under no obligation to continue reading. In fact, I encourage you to click the "Back/Return" button and find something that will make you happy.  
> The two characters depicted below are both adults.  
> I hope you enjoy it. If you do, let me know in the comments and/or leave me some Kudos. ;) Acceptable comments include gibberish key-mashing to analysis to general thoughts/feelings.  
> This fic is currently un-beta'd.
> 
> >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!<

Gabriel stared at the clothes in the closet.

Three and a half weeks since he’d caught Marinette in his office. Three and a half weeks since he’d first listened to the message that she thought was deleted- that he wasn’t supposed to know ever existed. But it did exist. And Gabriel had heard it- more times than he was willing to admit. The file was no longer on the backup servers but now in a deep, private directory on his personal phone and on his other “work” phone. He told himself that he was keeping it for possible blackmail and to boost his confidence when he was feeling low. It was just nice to feel wanted even if she was about 20 years his junior.

He would have given her an internship with Gabriel back when she graduated from lycee, but she’d shocked a lot of her fellows by following a different career path in journalism and fashion publication instead of design. Was she an editorial writer at De Rigueur? He thought so. But she also seemed to have her fingers in a number of the other departments with responsibilities that shouldn’t belong to her if she was just a writer. He saw that more this week than at any other time.

He’d heard some of her colleagues and co-workers call her “Miss Fortune”. In a pinch with no idea how to fix the problem? She found the solution in the oddest places with the most unlikely props. Projects with her attached to them somehow succeeded extraordinarily and people loved her. Alternately, it was a  widely understood fact that she should not be entrusted to carry coffees  and treats for everyone- or herself. Of course, he’d known she was a bit clumsy and that she was dedicated and talented at her job. They’d worked together before and their professional circles frequently overlapped as their personal ones did so sporadically (a party for Adrien came to mind, which she’d helped to organize with some of Adrien’s other friends). He hadn’t realized that she might very well be running the place in short order if she wanted it, and people would willingly follow her lead and help her.

He wouldn’t know half of this if she hadn’t left a half-drunk message and tried to take it back. He wouldn’t know that she could come into his house and take everything she wanted without him being the wiser except that he had gotten home at just that moment. That’s why he was standing in his closet, debating about his fashion choices. She would make a great thief. He could mentor her after all. And if she liked him at least a little, so much the better.

He grabbed the red pants for the third time that week.

>!<   >!<   >!<   >!<   >!<   >!<   >!<

 

“I am going to kill you,” she sneered. The petite woman sat at the table in the seat across from the door with a darkling glare, laptop open and hands at rest on the keyboard, and didn’t look up as Gabriel appeared in the doorway of the otherwise empty conference room. He froze. A chill ran down his spine, his stomach dropped, and he repressed a shudder. His fingers tightened on the warm cup and packaged sandwiches in his hands. When he tried to open his mouth in response, motor functions lagged. All he could manage was a clearing of the throat, which startled an adorable squeak from her.

There were the giant, over-round eyes. If he hadn’t heard it himself, he would never have supposed that this small, sweet-faced woman could have elicited his fear. “We’ll continue this later,” she intoned, pushing a button on her wireless earbud. “M. Agreste!” She pushed a few keys on the keyboard and swiped a finger across the screen, likely closing out an open program or file.

He lifted the food, but she furrowed her brow in perturbation. “I thought this room might be empty.” She continued to stare at him. Did she realize he wasn’t actually supposed to be here? He cleared his throat again. “I was… checking on things, and they delivered me an extra sandwich and coffee.” She cocked her head to the side quizzically without prompting him. Was she making some kind of power play? Wasn’t she supposed to like him? He sighed. “Would you care to join me for lunch?”

Her brow relaxed, she lifted her head, her eyes widened, and her mouth oh-ed. A becoming rosy dusting embellished the apples of her cheeks. “Really? Y- Sure. T-thank you!” She paused. “We didn’t have an appointment that I may have forgotten?” He shook his head and she exhaled in relief. “Sit where you like, I guess?”

He sat at the head of the table adjacent to her seat and set the coffee by her and divvied the sandwiches. They sat in silence as they began to eat. She opened a few things on her laptop, typing occasionally and perusing some text. He pulled out his tablet to work on a couple of projects that didn’t require his full attention so that he could surreptitiously observe her.

Marinette had always been a pretty girl, and she'd grown up well. Cheeks had lost their baby roundness but maintained the smoothness and shape of youth, her face slightly elongated with adulthood. She had traded her signature twin tails some years ago for a long, layered bob. Pink was still an obviously favored color, but looking at her style choices over the last few years, red had usurped pink's place in her wardrobe as an accent and pink expressions had been relegated to other avenues. He found himself staring at her lips which had moued at the screen and were painted with a satin luster and deep red. No, not red. It was a new shade that was popular that year: Coccinelle Crush.

He raised his eyes only to be met with her curious gaze. Gabriel turned back to his tablet and coughed softly, giving her a sidelong glance. “Coccinelle Crush. It's a good choice for your coloring. I find it interesting: the reasons people might choose certain colors. Could you offer me some insight into yours?”

Despite the blush, she managed to smirk as though it was some kind of inside joke. “It was a special present from a friend and I wear it when I want a little extra courage.” She picked up the coffee to sip it.

He raised an eyebrow, facing her. “And you are in need of courage today?”

The smirk remained as she eyed him over the top of the coffee cup, maintaining eye contact and leaving a perfect impression of her lips on the cup's lip where she'd kissed it. “Yes, I am in want of heart.” She paused for another sip, then added, “But the lipstick and a taste of this tall, hot, blond will have to do until I can get what else I want.”

His mouth was suddenly dry. She could have anything she wanted: a realization which terrified and fascinated. No, he was not suddenly over-warm. His heart did not skip a beat. It wouldn't dare.


	4. Friendly Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Miraculous and Akuma crews have teamed up for a job, but something happens and Ladybug and Hawkmoth get trapped in a room together.
> 
> _...His eyes snapped open, meeting her wide-eyed gaze. A creeping blush colored her cheeks. “See something you like?”  
>  “I WAS THINKING ABOUT WORK!” she squawked..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tl;Dr Don't Like/Don't Read; They're adults; Hope you like it!
> 
> If you don't like age-gap relationships, you are under no obligation to continue reading. In fact, I encourage you to click the "Back/Return" button and find something that will make you happy.  
> The two characters depicted below are both adults.  
> I hope you enjoy it. If you do, let me know in the comments and/or leave me some Kudos. ;) Acceptable comments include gibberish key-mashing to analysis to general thoughts/reactions.  
> This fic is currently un-beta'd.
> 
> >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!<

“Why did I agree to this job?” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the bleeding and leaning against the cement wall. “No one's answering on the comms. We're probably going to be in here for a while.”

She watched him as he sighed, closed his eyes, and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. He propped  his other arm forward, over his knee, letting his other leg lay straight. Ladybug came over and squatted in front of him. “Does it- does it hurt?” He cracked an eye open and eyed her.

“I'm almost certain that we've traded worse injuries.”

“I- I know,” She pouted. Hawkmoth chuckled, closing his eye again.

“I never knew you cared, little bug.”

She huffed and stood again, walking to the other side of the small room to sit on a small crate only a few feet from him. “Fine. I don't.” He had stopped pinching his nose and lay the arm across the outstretched leg but kept his eyes closed, head back against the wall. She took the opportunity to study the man. What else was she going to do? She'd exhausted all ideas for escape, and he was right. They were probably trapped for an indeterminable amount of time. 

The silvery, nearly full head mask hid his hair and eyebrows and smoothed the planes of his face and neck to disguise his precise age, but she knew his eyes were light blue like the late dawn sky and that he was probably some shade of blonde and older than she. Was he a golden blonde or platinum? Was he a ginger? Was he graying yet? The fit of the mask accentuated the sharp angles of his face, of his high cheekbones, the firm line of his jaw.  To see his ordinarily animated mouth in a state of repose was novel. Her fingers itched to trace their line and she clenched and unclenched her hands as if to scold them. 

Her gaze continued down the covered column of his neck. Where the mask ended was camouflaged by the high collar of his aubergine turtlenecked shirt. He still wore his lavender (clearly bespoke) jacket. There was no pinching or drooping at the seams of the shoulder and the fit was so obviously tailored for him. The legs of his trousers hugged his thighs and embraced his calves with the gentle ease of design. No off-the-rack outfit could be so suitably fitted. It could easily be mistaken for a suit. The dark, metallic boots even recalled formal shoes. In his position, with that ensemble, he could easily be part of a “Thief Chic” spread in some niche magazine or editorial feature article. 

She'd been looking for inspiration for her next article. Of course, as well made as the mask seemed to be, it wouldn't work for her purposes. It would have to be replaced. They could make up a butterfly-inspired domino with a sateen finish. It would leave his hair exposed, but she could get it styled. Would they keep it with the staid mood of most formal wear and slick it back? She thought it might be sexier to give him a  faded undercut with the top longish and lightly tousled. It could fall just over those piercing, pale eyes as he peered out of the mask as though he wanted to thieve you.  It was too bad he was a wanted criminal. He would have been a great model. She hummed her approval.

They'd sat in the silence of their respective introspection for long enough that the sudden, low sound startled them both. His eyes snapped open, meeting her wide-eyed gaze. A creeping blush colored her cheeks. “See something you like?”

“I WAS THINKING ABOUT WORK!” she squawked and flailed, falling off the crate and onto the floor. “Ow.”

He laughed, a full bellied laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes and opened his mouth in a wide grin and filled the room as his head fell forward with the force of his contracting diaphragm. When he'd gotten his humor into a controlled chuckle, he lifted his eyes to her face and winked at her.  “Is that what you call me when you go out with your friends?” he grinned. 

She rearranged her limbs more comfortably as she sputtered. “I- N- You- W-” She stopped trying to form complete sentences and instead puffed out her cheeks and exhaled.

“Don't hurt yourself, little bug,” he snickered, letting his bent leg relax beside its mate and stretching his arms out, gesturing to himself. “All of this seems to be flustering a number of young ladies. Apparently, there's even a song! Very gratifying.” He brought his arms down and folded his hands in his lap. She couldn't stop her eyes from following the cut of his pant legs now that they were more or less even in their presentation. Their eyes met again and he grinned at her like a cat who'd got his cream. “Thank you.”

She reddened further and rolled her eyes with a pout, looking away. “You're as bad as Chat Noir. Who would write a song about you?”

“Well, they don't know I'm Hawkmoth, obviously. And it wasn't so much about me personally as it was about their appreciation for certain assets that I may possess.” He allowed himself a sort of half giggle, half sigh. Hawkmoth recalled the voicemail from a month ago (his guilty pleasure now that he'd suppressed his embarrassment) and catching her flustered, appreciative gaze just yesterday. His voice dropped, “Shall I tell you a secret?”

She groaned. “Only if the secret is that you're planning to leave France and retire already.”

“Who knew ladybugs had stingers as wasps do! I am attempting friendliness-” She snorted. He scowled, eyes darkened, and he stood, crossing the distance in the space of a few breaths. Her eyes wide, Hawkmoth knelt in front of her. She tried to scramble back but his hand shot out and gripped her by the jaw. He leaned close and said in a softness that belied his hold on her, “Perhaps I am not friendly enough. Are you so frustrated?” 

She closed her eyes and her breaths shuddered through her parted lips. It was like that night in M. Agreste's office. Somehow his voice managed to contradict everything else about him. His body, with its sharp angles and hard lines, threatened while his voice soothed. The coil low in her abdomen began to tighten. She opened her eyes again to look into his. His breath was hot on her face. 

Her dark red domino could not hide the deepening flush in her cheeks... and her lips, which she took that moment to wet with her sharp, pink, little tongue. Bright blue eyes flickered their gaze to his mouth. He clenched his jaw and his grip on hers tightened. Suddenly his jacket lapels were in her white-knuckled grasp as she pulled. His mouth crashed into hers. There was a clacking of teeth and he groaned with the pain that shot from his probably bruised nose when it bumped into her cheek. Her hold was persistent and her lips were fierce in their onslaught until he relented , growling with breathless pants in open mouthed kisses.

She pulled him down with her as she lowered herself to the floor; he fell forward with knees straddling one of her legs, bracing himself with his forearm on the floor by her shoulder. He nipped at her upper lip and she squeaked, gasping when he turned her head roughly to the side to graze his teeth along the line of her jaw,  keening when he pinched the flesh with his teeth and laving those places with his tongue until he came to the lobe of her ear and turned her head back to face him. She loosened her grip on his jacket. Hawkmoth released her jaw from his grip and slid his arm down her side, wrapping it around her waist and pressing her to him.

Ladybug took his lip in her teeth and sucked. When he groaned, she rolled her hips against his thigh and the groan strangled. He growled and kissed her harder, bucking his growing interest into her hip. She whined into his kiss and panted against his lips as she pressed up into him, desperate for more friction-

A screeching in their ears of the comms coming back on-line brought their heated activity to an abrupt halt. They grit their teeth, wincing, but not moving from their position. They were both still breathing heavily. He rested his forehead in the crook of her neck, panting. Like gravel in his larynx, “Gamer?”

((My apologies. Is everything alright?))

“Bug in my throat. We've been having a friendly conversation while you all faff about out there,” Hawkmoth snarled. It was so close to her throat she shuddered.

She took a deep breath and exhaled, hoping her voice wouldn't give anything away, “Rena? Can you get us out? We're in an unused unit on the 3rd level, A wing.”

(Chat's on it. 10 minutes?) A pause. (Are you sure you're okay? You sound weird. He didn't do anything to you, did he? I swear to-)

She sighed, “Thank you, Rena.” She turned off her comm and he did the same.

He let her go and pushed himself up and away. They stood. Ladybug braced herself against the wall. Their breathing was coming down. Neither said a word. He was scowling, kiss swollen lips pursed in a firm line, but she could see twitches that belied an inner conversation. Her face was easier to read even if there were so many emotions that he didn't know how exactly to translate it. He did know that she would need a decent concealer for the bruising and marks he'd left on her jaw. Hawkmoth smirked.

“What will your cat think when he sees that his little bug has been lightly used?”

Ladybug let out a deep, inarticulate sound. “Oh my god, we're not together! I am no one's 'little bug'! And I'm pretty sure, Monsieur Purple Pants, that I used you!”

“Such a temper, little bug. I thought my friendliness might have dulled your sting.”

She attempted to smooth her clothing and let out a pout and huff. “Yeah? Well, show's what you know. Besides, you were the one who went from giggling over some – woman?- who wrote a song about your assets to being... friendly with me.”

“Don't be ridiculous. She could be my daughter. So could you, actually.”

“Really? How old are you? Your mask makes it hard to tell.”

“Forty-seven. What are you? Half that? Do you regret it now?”

“Don't push your insecurities on me. My shame has nothing to do with your age. And I'm not your daughter. Is she?”

There was a pounding at the door of the little room, some beeping and a minor explosion, and the door was opened. Chat Noir grinned with a courtly bow, “Your carriage awaits, M'lady-” he saw her as he rose and gaped- her hair slightly mussed, lips still a bit fuller than usual, and the marks along her jaw. He looked over to Hawkmoth, who was standing and staring at him coldly: dust ground into his pants' knees,  rumpled jacket collar, pinked lips. “What happened to you two?”

 


	5. Obligatory Chat with Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen, when one of your best friends and long time partner-in-crime knows you snogged Hawkmoth while you were trapped in a room together, a conversation is going to be had.
> 
> _"Nope. I’m serious as a heart attack… Although,” he continued thoughtfully, “if you manage to give the old man a heart attack with your womanly wiles- Nope. Nope! Nevermind. Number 1 stands."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tl;Dr Don't Like/Don't Read; They're adults; Hope you like it!
> 
> If you don't like age-gap relationships, you are under no obligation to continue reading. In fact, I encourage you to click the "Back/Return" button and find something that will make you happy.  
> The two characters depicted below are both adults.  
> I hope you enjoy it. If you do, let me know in the comments and/or leave me some Kudos. ;) Acceptable comments include gibberish key-mashing to analysis to general thoughts/reactions.  
> This fic is currently un-beta'd.
> 
> >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!<

“Ladybug, what-”

“I’m not talking about this with you, Chat.”

“I think we’re going to talk about this because he should be a lot more dead right now and I don’t understand why he isn’t.”

“Because I told you to leave it alone. Because I’m a grown woman capable of and culpable for my own actions. Because, whatever you or anyone else might say, I wanted it.”

“Hawkmoth? You wanted Hawkmoth?”

She sighed, “In that room, for that time, yes.”

“Why?!”

“I’m not saying I’m proud of it! I was weak, Chat. My day job-”

“Which you don’t need.”

“Uugh! Which I like and lets me work with people I have admired since I was a little girl! We’ve been working on a thing with this other company whose head is a leader in the industry, one of those people I have admired since forever, and I’ve been working with him in much closer proximity for longer periods of time than usual because of this project and he’s amazing and driven and he brought me lunch (Okay, there was a delivery mistake and he’d gotten an extra order so it wasn’t FOR me) and, I swear to god, if it weren’t so improbable, I might think he were wearing those damned pants every day I end up seeing him just to mess with me. I am a human being, Chat! He can’t do that to me!”

“So, instead of just dragging HIM into an empty room and having your way with him, the first time you’re trapped in a room with Hawkmoth- HAWKMOTH, LB- who is known to have tortured people- TORTURE- who is generally a dick, and who has been doing this for long enough that he could probably have kids our age, you shove your tongue down HIS throat, and you let HIM touch you, and you let HIM- you let him bruise and mark you?” The last part came out like he was choking on it.

Ladybug brought her fingers up to the places where the bruises from his fingers on her jaw and the marks from his teeth were aching. She forced herself to repress the pleasurable shudder that threatened and had to squeeze her thighs together at the remembrance. “Yes,” she wheezed. 

“Oh my god, Ladybug.” Chat ran a palm over his face. “If you were that… frustrated, why didn’t you say anything? We’re a team, aren’t we? You could have asked me-”

“Aren’t you with Carapace or someone?”

“Don’t assume. I was gonna say: or Carapace or Rena- I know Queenie would jump at the chance! Even if she might act like we’re all a major inconvenience that she’s forced to endure. Or, I don’t know, an idea of the highest novelty, ask your man out and take care of the pants problem?”

“It’s complicated, okay? I am not good at talking to him about not work. That’s mostly fine; we have a lot in common and to talk about where that is concerned, but I tried to ask him out once and he… didn’t get the message... Did I mention he has a son that I’ve been friends with since school, and while their relationship is definitely better than it was, it’s not great?”

“Holy crap, LB.”

“I know.”

“Ladybug.”

“I know, alright!”

“But- Hawkmoth.”

“Shut up. I told you I was weak. And, it’s not like we’ve heard of him torturing anyone in the last several years-”

“Because that makes it all better.”

“You want me to have an excuse other than sexual frustration and convenience for why him? You want me to analyse this thing?”

“I want to understand.”

She huffed. “Fine, Chat. You want me to unpack this? You’re not going to be any happier, I promise you. Here goes: They’re both major players in their respective areas of expertise- ambitious and skilled leaders. Honestly, if it weren’t for the torture thing, I might have tried to join his crew way back when. They’re both calculating and reserved, though Hawkmoth is definitely more flirty and I don’t think I’ve ever heard M. Agres-ssssively, uh, Handsome giggle. I didn’t know until later, but, apparently, they’re about the same age. They have similar builds, and he was sitting there in his well-fitted, purple monstrosity like some freaking model for a spread in Thieves Ltd., then teasing me and sighing about some woman and wanting to tell me a secret with his stupid mouth, and I just wanted him to shut up and let me stew in peace. But, no, he wanted to be… friendly, and he got in my face with that stupid voice that makes me feel all kinds of…”

“Oh, Bugaboo. This is bad.”

“I knoooow.”

“Bugaboo, sweetie, how long?”

“About a month?” She peeped. 

“Okay. Three things. Number 1: We are going to get you a code word just in case you end up working alone together again or have a run-in and we need to extract you immediately- Nope. I’m serious as a heart attack… Although,” he continued thoughtfully, “if you manage to give the old man a heart attack with your womanly wiles- Nope. Nope! Nevermind. Number 1 stands. Number 2: You need to get with this M. Agressively Handsome so that you won’t be so tempted by M. Purple Butterfly Dickhead.”

“What’s the third thing?”

“Right. Number 3: I am never going to let you meet my father. I love you, but he’s all the family I have left, and I don’t want to be competing against him too. You clearly have a type, and I am at a disadvantage- what with not being old enough to be your father, but if it helps, I'll let you call me ‘Daddy’.” He winked.

She scoffed and shoved him playfully. “Silly kitty.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel gets some input from his son at dinner. Adrien is not catching a break.  
>  _“Your friend, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, is already doing more than enough, thank you very much.”  
>  Adrien eyed his father. “I'm surprised you're not married to this woman, then."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this story has been surprising, and I am ecstatic that you all have been enjoying it! Thank you so much for your comments and your kudos. They mean so much to me!  
> This fic is still unbeta'd and lightly proofread.

Adrien and Gabriel had a strained relationship. They had never been particularly close and it had been worse after Adrien's mother had left them thirteen years ago and he had fully withdrawn to his work. Gabriel had provided for his son materially but not much beyond that. They didn't know each other, and Gabriel hadn't made attempts to fix that. He'd reinforced it. It was only in the last four years (a few years after the extremely messy divorce was finally finalized) that real effort had been made. He was not a good father, he knew, even if he had been better than his own father- if only marginally. Progress, right? They would probably never have the relationship that Adrien had so desperately wanted as a child, but he could be... better than he was. And he was grateful that Adrien was willing to let him try.

Adrien traveled a lot for work. Gabriel wasn't sure of exactly what he did, some kind of trade business, but didn't pry. Boundaries. He was a private person where his father was concerned. Gabriel could relate. He needed to respect his son's right to choose the people in his life and what he shared with them- including himself (especially himself). So, they had a dinner or two whenever Adrien was in France and available, and Gabriel made special efforts not to cancel and to show interest in his son without overstepping and, in turn, to share something of himself. Adrien had made it abundantly clear that he wouldn't be the only one giving in this relationship. His son had been in town for just over a month. They'd had dinner the night after he'd found Marinette in his office and now Adrien would be leaving again and wanted to have dinner before getting on the plane.

Gabriel wanted to focus on this dinner. He really did, but he found himself trapped in his own head again, trying to piece together a puzzle made of himself or of Marinette or of Ladybug or some strange triad of the three of them. He wasn't sure what comprised the main picture. Marinette was certainly an increasingly frustrating part, he was sure. Even if he didn't fully understand Ladybug's responses to him the other night, he admitted that he had taunted her and that they had an antagonistic relationship at best. She was probably trying to bother him. Both women seemed to be rather adept at that. Why did he let them affect him this way?

A fork clattered on a plate, drawing his attention away from his own thoughts.

“Do you want me to leave? I can leave you alone with your thoughts if you prefer. I'll call Marinette-” Gabriel blanched at the mention of her name- “and Keith and Al or Kim. Maybe they can fit me in for last minute karaoke or... Hey, are you okay?” Adrien stared at his father who was shaking his head.

“I'm fine. I'm sorry. Work issues.”

The young man scowled. “We talked about this, Father. You went all pale suddenly but then try to hide behind work when I ask if you're okay. What is going on with you? You've been cut-off all night like you used to!”

Gabriel pressed his lips into a frown. He wanted to redirect, deflect, turn it back on Adrien. Instead, he sighed and slumped a little. “It is to do with work.” Well, it was in a way.

“It is.” Adrien's gaze narrowed, but he didn't say any more. Was everyone going to stare at him now until he caved with an acceptable answer? Did they all get together for a secret meeting and decide that this was the most effective way to deal with him? Was it Nathalie's idea? Did she teach them? Maybe Marinette had enlisted Nathalie's help. With what he knew of her now, it wasn't an entirely far-fetched idea as one should suppose. She was a cunning one despite the sweet packaging. Were Nathalie and Marinette secretly friends? Was that how she'd gotten into the house without triggering the alarms? Adrien cleared his throat. He was waiting for a better answer.

“I may have... discounted and underestimated someone and am being made very aware of my miscalculations,” he said cautiously.

“Another designer? A competitor? The mailman?” Adrien tried to prompt him. It had been a long time since he'd seen his own father worked up but not angry. Maybe if he could talk about what was bothering him instead of bottling it all up...

“No.” He knit his brows together. “At least, I don't think so. She is certainly capable, but she isn't doing so openly if she is.”

Adrien raised an eyebrow. “She?” The older man avoided his son's gaze and pushed a few pieces of food around his plate, seeming to inspect their contents. “Father? Is this- Are you-” He was making valiant attempts to suppress a smirk.

“Am I what?” he asked dryly.

“Are you and Nathalie having a spat?”

“Having a what? Nathalie and I do not have 'spats'. And I would die before I underestimated her. She would see to it herself.” She knew where the bodies were hidden and was very capable at both of her jobs- even if body hiding wasn't as large a part as it had been during the dark days after his ex-wife's disappearance and subsequent reappearance and divorce proceedings.

Adrien considered this. “You're probably right. So... a she is giving you problems at work, but she's not a designer nor does she own a competing house. Who else could make you so... distracted and suddenly ill-looking?” He took a sip of his water. Adrien's expression was like that of a cat who was pointedly not looking at the canary that it planned to eat for lunch. It was disconcerting.

“I believe she writes, or something, for De Rigueur.”

“Oh,” Adrien frowned slightly. “Is she writing something unflattering about your line then?”

“No. ...At least, I don't believe so. Her current project isn't supposed to be a critique, anyway.”

The gleam was back. “So, it's a personality difference.”

He really didn't want to talk about it anymore. He didn't like where this was going.

“Do you like her?” Adrien was being respectful by not singing the question.

“She is... an... impressive and talented young woman who is a force to be reckoned with.”

“High praise. Is the problem that she doesn't like you?”

Gabriel chuckled, staring into his wine glass, into the deep burgundy. “I have been given reason to believe that she finds my company pleasurable despite her awareness of certain of my shortcomings.”

“This is painful, Father. I think I'm going to need an aspirin. What is the problem? Have you forgotten how to ask a woman out? Mari works at De Rigueur! Maybe she knows her and can help push this thing along. We'll do a double date if-” Gabriel held up a hand to stay his son's helpfulness.

“Your friend, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, is already doing more than enough, thank you very much.”

Adrien eyed his father. “I'm surprised you're not married to this woman, then, if Mari's already involved. She can be scary when she sets her sights on something. You must not be very interested if you're not at least seeing this woman.”

Gabriel hummed. “We've had lunch, but it's...”

Adrien pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “If you finish that sentence with 'complicated'-” He muttered under his breath, “I swear to god, not you too.”

“As I said before: my initial assessments of her character have been undergoing ratification. And the age difference is a bit of a factor in my hesitance.”

“What is my life right now?” Adrien whispered to himself, but it confused Gabriel.

“I'm sorry?” he glowered.

“No, no! This is big. I'm glad you can share this part of your life with me and I was asking. I just- you are not the first person to talk to me about their romantic interest in someone with an age gap. I know those relationships have their own set of challenges, but if you're both willing to face them together...” the young man sighed. “I want you to be happy, Father. I want all of you to be happy. So, what kind of age gap are we talking about?”

“Enough of one that you could have gone to school with her.”

“Wait. Did I go to school with her? Do I know her?”

“I think so. Would that matter very much to you?”

“Wha- N- Maybe? You think so? Father, who is she? You  _ think so _ ?!”

Gabriel smirked as he placed his napkin on the table. “I'm sorry, Adrien. I'm very tired and think I'll retire early. I appreciate your input in this matter. It's been very nice to see you. Please text me when you get to Amsterdam.”

“I'm not going to Amsterdam,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

 


	7. Of Cabbages and Butterfly Pinboards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from Hawkmoth at her home has Marinette in a snit, but she gives as good as she gets and Gabriel thinks he might need to reassert his affect on her.  
> 
> 
> _Merde, she was a heady concoction! ...A low, familiar voice which provoked and pleased wormed its way into her ear from behind her and stopped her breath. [Mode: Panic, activated]_

Last night when she'd come home and he'd been waiting, she'd been startled.. She'd tried to guess how he'd entered, why he might be there, how she might defend herself if he attacked. There had been some fear there, too. Good. He wasn't planning to assault her, but he needed her to be unsure of his intentions- at least initially. It might keep her from doing something very stupid.

He'd offered her an apprenticeship with him. He may have been waffling about a personal relationship, but he couldn't let those skills she'd demonstrated by entering his home go to waste, nor the leadership, creativity, and force of will that he'd observed in his recent visits to her workplace and over the course of their acquaintanceship. Watching the switch from nervous young woman with a strange man in her home to calculating wariness at his proposition, the gears whirring in her head, was fascinating. He thought she might want some days to consider it, to weigh the benefits, but she had rejected it in short order. She was perceptibly annoyed at the prospect of it. That was unexpected.

Was she worried about what her upstanding beau would think of her late night pilfering hobby if he found out? Her response had been... mixed. Oh, that had been interesting! Her words were limited on the matter, but her posture and face had communicated so much! Mild concern about... something, but she was not worried about his thinly veiled threat. Rather than put more space between them or maintain her distance, she approached him, slowly, stalking, never breaking eye contact, and entered his personal space. She was predatory. Daring him. The look on her face reminded him of the day he'd heard her threaten some unknown soul with death. And she was confident that she had some vital piece of information that he didn't have in this interchange. “Really?” She'd fairly sung it, slowly tilting her head to the side. Her tone was so sweet, like he could have been sucking on a chewy, sweet treat only to impale himself with the disguised, hard, candied sour stake within.

_Merde_ , she was a heady concoction! He hadn't felt that way since Ladybug had grabbed him when he'd taunted her, and she hadn't even touched him! She was just in his space. She was only assaulting him with her nearness and beguiling, dulcet tones. He was going to need to get some of his power back.

>!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!< >!<

She was going to kill him. She was going to invest in a giant pinboard and start a butterfly collection comprised of Hawkmoth and- that was it. Just him. She was sure she could find a giant pin to attach him and then hang him on her wall to ward off other Purple Butterfly Dickheads. She slammed a fist down on the stapler. The staple didn't clear the papers and instead mangled. He'd been in her apartment when she'd gotten home. He was just sitting there, comfortable as you please in her living room in her chair by the little lamp that she always left on. She hadn't even noticed he was there at first. Why should she? It was her home, not Ladybug's. No one from that life had ever set foot there. She didn't keep anything that could connect them in that apartment. But he had managed to get to the fifth floor unnoticed and hack her encoded and passcoded door lock. Of course he had. He was Hawkmoth. He didn't seem to realize who she was when he was there. That was one favor. He was apparently just there to terrorize poor Marinette, whom he had made listen to the very embarrassing message she'd left while he sat there, watching her, before he had sent her on her way while he- she didn't know what. She hadn't heard of anything missing from the Agreste estate.

Her entry to the Agreste mansion and her cool head had impressed him, apparently. He claimed to be there with an offer to further her training, to let her come in to Akuma as his protege. Her! His protege! Like Ladybug would ever... okay, maybe in the beginning of her career before she'd known what he was doing to people at the time... But he'd broken into her home! Brought that part of her life across her doorstep! And then he'd figuratively tweaked her nose about her crush on Gabriel Agreste! (She would have punched him in his newly healed nose if he'd actually tweaked her nose). At least the lights were low and her concealer game is strong, or he might have seen the bruises on her jaw that hadn't fully dissipated yet. It was like his presence made them ache more. Marinette glared daggers at the offending office tool and the disfigured staple as though her ire could conjure the man and make him the staple.

“Hello; petit chou?” A low, familiar voice which provoked and pleased wormed its way into her ear from behind her and stopped her breath. [Mode: Panic, activated] She screeched and flailed, nearly falling from her chair except that a masculine arm caught her mid-tilt and cradled her gently as its owner placed a container from a local patisserie on the desk with his other, un-Marinette-filled hand. She turned her head to face her attacker savior. Platinum blond hair slicked back in his signature coif, his face was close. So close. His sparkling pale blue eyes, crinkled at the corners in amusement met hers, wide and bright blue. His breath was warm against her cheek. She dared a glance at his lips. Her cheeks and tips of her ears bloomed pink as his lips parted lightly and the corners raised. “Petit chou?” His breath fairly danced on her lips as he spoke.

 

[Marinette.exe is not responding]

[C:\system\restore\Marinette.exe]

[Searching...]

[ERROR: cannot complete]

[Run C:\program\backup\responses\Fantasy232.exe]

[Searching...]

[Running Fantasy232.exe]

 

“Yes, mon mignon?” she sighed.

He chuckled and righted her in her seat now that she was more stable, stepping around her to her side and gesturing to the box on her desk with a wink “I was impressed with what you managed to accomplish for this coming issue's collaboration with Gabriel, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng. Do you care for cream puffs?”

She craned her neck to look up at him, then over at the filigreed box on her desk, on the stack of papers with the previously offending staple. “Cream puffs?”

He leaned back against the desk and reached over to open the container. “Cream puffs. I suppose I should have checked with the secretary about what you like. I can get you something else.” He flashed an apologetic smile. “Forgive me?”

“N-no. I like cream puffs. Th-thank you!” She managed to squeak and smile at him. “You really didn't have to.” She reached in the box and pulled out a pastry, biting into it to illustrate that she really did like them. There was no need to feign her enjoyment. She closed her eyes to savor it. It was delicious! It was similar to what her parents had made when they had had the patisserie in Paris before they'd moved to Italy to take care of family. “Mmmmm!”

“I rarely do things I don't wish to do. I believe we've been acquainted long enough that you know that by now, however I am pleased that you like my little present,” he smiled.

She blushed some more. “Yes, thank you, M'sieur. I hope it will be a success.”

He stood to take his leave. “With you, Miss Fortune, how could it be otherwise? But we will see soon enough. Good day.”

Her eyes followed him as he left, she managed to mumble a farewell. Smooth, Marinette. At least he was wearing dark slacks. She turned herself to the desk top again. The box was prettily painted with silvery lavender butterflies dancing around the edges.

Her fingers lightly pressed the still tender places along her jaw. Stupid butterflies.  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last buffered chapter, so it will probably take a while before there's another update. Thank you all so much for your continued support. In the meantime, I'm on Tumblr (coolfuffles) and playing with some oneshots and prompts.


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